


these tornadoes are for you

by withmyteethsharper



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, First Time, M/M, this is what i come up with after two years of not writing a thing, unrequited love feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 11:35:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withmyteethsharper/pseuds/withmyteethsharper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>after the first bottle and half of the second, harry picks up louis’ guitar and plays it in that careful way he always does because he’s still not confident with instruments. it’s a song he wrote a year ago about someone he was fucking or wanted to fuck, louis never asked. it’s not explicit, but it doesn’t have to be with harry’s voice and the way his mouth moves around the lyrics. louis is not drunk enough to listen to this song in the quiet of their apartment at midnight, so he picks up the cigarettes and shakes the pack in harry’s direction.</p>
<p>“you hate this song,” is harry’s response. “why?”</p>
<p>(this is an alternate universe where the boys are in a punk band instead of a boy band and there is pining and lots of self-indulgent music talk.)</p>
<p>you can find me at witchbarbie on tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	these tornadoes are for you

it’s a thursday night and louis is on stage. it’s a small show and they’re getting paid shit for it, but louis can feel his heart syncing with zayn’s bass line and harry’s voice finding its way under his skin; embedding itself deep in louis’ bones. the crowd is really into them tonight - uni crowd and some who look even younger than that - and he swears that one of the boys in the crowd is singing along. it turns louis’ grin manic and he closes his eyes, lets his fingers fly across his guitar strings and listens for the sound of each breath harry takes - magnified by his mic. 

harry’s presence on stage is electric. he’s like that all the time, but tonight especially. louis can’t take his eyes off the way harry’s sleeve seems to glow under the lights, colors standing out even brighter, and how the cut of his torn up tank shows off the words tattooed across his ribcage - harry has almost surpassed zayn in number of tattoos. louis lifts a hand from his guitar to wipe the sweat from his face and his fingers come back stained with the eyeliner he’d messily drawn on five minutes before their set. niall had laughed at him for it, but didn’t complain when louis tackled him to the floor and applied a thin line of black around his own eyes.

harry skips the last chorus before liam’s outro and slips into neko case seamlessly. it makes louis laugh because sometimes he thinks harry is trying to be obscure when he pulls out covers on stage. then _deep red bells_ is ringing out across the room - harry belting it out with his eyes shut and his voice hums in louis’ bloodstream and he feels his breath hitch. he’s been listening to harry sing for years, but sometimes it still catches him by surprise. 

liam picks up his solo easily, feet planted steady on the stage and harry releases his grip on the mic, takes the few steps to louis. harry’s hand trails past the anchor tattooed on louis’ forearm and his fingers curl around louis' knuckles so tightly that louis thinks for a moment he can feel the ink pressing deeper into his skin. harry is still singing, _where does this mean world cast it’s cold eye? who’s left to suffer long about you?_ , his voice low and rough, right in louis’ ear. louis shivers and remembers the night he came home from work and handed harry _blacklisted_ \- something about the longing in her voice reminded him of eyes that were green, green, green, and harry’s bony hands.

he turns his face, lips right against harry’s ear, and says, “you indie twat. this is a punk show, don’t you know?” harry doesn’t move, so louis keeps talking, just to keep him close. “no one in the world, except you, knows that song.”

harry laughs, loud, says, “you do,” with his big, innocent eyes and louis can’t help but smile back at him.

louis bites his shoulder, high up where the ink starts, and shoves him back to the microphone. harry shakes his hair out - it’s always a sweaty mess by the end of a show - and says, “this one’s called ‘handjobs on the weekend’.” he’s got that cheeky fucking smile on his face because harry styles will always try and flirt with an entire crowd of people. “it’s about true love.”

the crowd cheers at that and louis hears niall cheer along with them before he counts them in. this song is fast and dirty. louis throws himself into it, falling to his knees on stage, head bowed over his guitar. harry drops down to his knees in front of louis, pushing for louis to share the mic and shout his head off while harry sings, _we don’t come at all_.

the song ends and harry is still on his knees. he turns himself to crowd and says, “we are london halflife. thank you from the bottom of our little hearts. if you buy one of our records, i’ll give you a handjob.”

liam steps in close to his own mic. “he’s joking. handjobs on your own time today, mates. g’night. we’re london halflife.”

-

they get help packing their equipment from the band that went on after them - fronted by a slight girl named delia with a big, yelping voice that reminds louis of poly styrene; she’s sweet, carries more than her weight in amps, and tells them how much she enjoyed their show.

once everything is put away in niall’s disaster of a van, zayn starts talking about drinks at the apartment he shares with niall and liam. “we could watch some films, yeah? we’ll get you pissed for free?”

liam’s exhausted and niall will agree to anything if he’s fed, but harry seems hesitant, like maybe he has other plans for tonight. louis doesn’t think he can spend a night in while harry pulls women - or men - at whatever bar or club he ends up in.

he doesn’t even think before taking harry’s wrist in his hand and stepping close so the others don’t hear. harry’s pulse is steady under his fingertips and louis swallows before he can speak. 

“should be fun, alright? stay in with me,” he says when it should be _us_ and harry gives him that look, eyes focused and searching. louis averts his own eyes, but he can feel harry’s gaze. it makes him feel so fucking obvious, standing here in his smeared eyeliner, trying to get a boy to come home with him. it’s not the same thing, not really, but it might as well be.

harry sighs, breath fanning across louis’ downturned face. he brings his hands up, louis’ fingers still pressing into his pulse point and tilts louis’ chin up, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “okay, lads,” he says, “we’re off, then.”

they pull apart as everyone starts piling into the van and niall gives him a look that’s almost sad before pushing louis into the van. louis makes a scene of it, throwing himself across zayn and liam and shouting, “niall, you fiend, i like it rough, but you’ve gone too far.”

zayn moves him into a sitting position and niall is shaking his head, rolling his eyes fondly. harry is in the passenger seat, staring back at louis and laughing that ridiculous laugh he has. it makes him look sixteen again and louis grins back at him and shoots him a thumbs up that harry returns.

-

it’s after one in the morning when they get to the boys’ flat. louis throws himself on the couch and demands to be brought beer along with the good crisps from niall’s stash. niall makes a fuss about it, but tosses a bag at louis’ and presses a cold bottle into the exposed skin on his neck. louis yelps and niall settles on the couch with louis’ feet in his lap.

niall looks sweet when he’s tired, much younger than his age and even younger the way he hesitates before he asks, voice low, “you alright?”

louis shrugs, takes a drink from his bottle. “fine. we were good tonight.”

that gets a smile, but niall is always persistent. “i know that, but...”

louis rolls his eyes and cuts off whatever he’s about to hear. “..your roots need sortin’ out. want me to fix you up?”

niall runs his hands through his hair, letting the previous conversation drop. “yeah, okay. not tonight.”

harry walks into the room, stepping over where liam and zayn are falling asleep on the floor. “room for me?,” he asks and louis moves, leaving a space for harry to take.

niall complains that harry’s too tall to be trying to fit and moves to the floor, throwing his legs across liam’s thighs.

“it’s not my fault i’m louis’ favorite,” harry teases, hiding his grin in louis’ shoulder.

that leads to zayn doing his spot-on impression of harry - involving lots of shrugging, mumbling and pouting - which has everyone in hysterics, as usual.

“you were on fire tonight,” harry whispers in the middle of it.

louis nods, if only to have something to do and turns his head, catching zayn's eyes in the process. zayn has that brooding look on his face that drives louis absolutely mad, so he looks away.

"you, too, haz," louis replies, keeping his voice just as low. harry smiles at him, not turning away and louis makes a face at him. "are we going home tonight?"

harry shakes his head, moving to lay on louis' shoulder and finally pay attention to the movie zayn had started twenty minutes ago. "'m alright here."

-

louis and zayn have to open up shop at _sounds_ the next morning and louis wakes up sore from sharing a couch with harry. he pretends not to notice the gentle way zayn untangles himself from liam’s arms and legs on the floor. he pretends to be asleep and listens to zayn’s sleepy voice murmur, “li, liam, darling, you’re going to feel terrible if you don’t get into your own bed now.”

there’s the quiet sound of the blankets they laid out the night before rustling and then liam says, voice sounding wrecked, “i’ll see you after work, yeah?”

liam retreats to his bedroom and zayn yawns, then pokes louis in the cheek. “i know you’re awake, you prick.”

louis opens his eyes, eyebrow raised and zayn silences the coming remark with a vicious curl of his lip. “no, louis,” he says. “those cuddling with harry shouldn’t throw stones in glass houses.”

louis claps his hand over his mouth to muffle his laugh. “that is not at all the saying, zayn.”

“you know what I’m trying to say,” zayn says, waving a hand in louis’ direction. “you can have the shower when i’m done. we’ve got to be on our way soon.”

-

it’s louis’ turn to pick the music in the shop today - they have this scheduled because once he and liam got into a fight over the smiths and the raincoats that almost ended in murder because _obviously ana da silva beats morrissey, liam, you unbelievable fucker_. louis is in the mood for something loud and he doesn’t care a bit that it’s only half past eight in the morning. he picks up the gits album _frenching the bully_ and lets mia zapata’s gravelly voice and the thrashing guitars bounce off the walls as he helps zayn bring in the boxes of new shipments.

“maybe we can listen to this when you’re finished wailing along to the gits?” zayn asks, holding up the new regina spektor album.

“yes, zayn,” louis shouts, out of breath, and a lot louder than necessary considering zayn is right next to him. “because i’m a top friend and the best looking man you know.”

zayn pinches louis’ thigh through his bright red jeans and tries to look annoyed, but he’s got a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “cheers, louis,” he says.

“alright, young zayn,” louis starts, affecting one of his many bizarre accents. “it’s time to get to work. you can’t just skate by on your pretty face.”

“oh my god, louis, stop,” zayn pleads with a laugh and louis loves the way zayn’s accent is thicker sometimes - _lou-eh_. “just open a goddamn box.”

-

harry shows up with liam twenty minutes before louis’ shift ends, while zayn is playing regina spektor’s “small town moon” on repeat. he wraps his arms around louis’ shoulders, hair still smelling like the sweets from the bakery he works at, with traces of flour still sprinkled in the soft curls.

“i’ve got really exciting news,” he exclaims, pulling back. “i’ve got us another gig already.”

“you made me wait until we got here just to say that?” liam complains, though he looks pretty fucking excited from what louis can see. liam loves being on stage just as much as any of them.

harry tells the story of the man who came into the bakery and, based on listening to harry’s singing from the kitchen, asked him to play a gig at his club. louis wants to ask, _was this guy looking for something else, too, harry?_ but he keeps his mouth shut because questions like that only get him zayn’s sad eyes and louis hates nothing more.

“that’s massive, harry,” zayn says and louis has to agree, they don’t always have gigs this close to each other and, of course, harry has this kind of luck. this actually is good news, whether or not this bloke was a sleaze aside. 

harry beams and brings his hands up to pull louis’ mouth into a smile. “this is good, lou, yeah?”

“yeah, curly, you’ve done us all proud,” louis says. “we’ll be famous by next week.”

“i know this song,” liam asks, completely off topic. “zayn, what’s this song?”

“regina spektor? ‘small town moon’, it’s called,” zayn replies. “she played it when we saw her live, remember? released it on her new record.”

liam beams, eyes crinkling at the corners. “yes, that’s it.” his voice is almost wistful, like he’s envisioning regina on the stage again, but louis guesses mostly remembering being at the show with zayn. _oblivious fool_ , louis thinks before liam’s voice chimes in again. “i love it.”

“i know, li. you said so before,” zayn says, letting out a small laugh and liam just keeps smiling. louis wants to smash their faces in because they’re _missing the point_ of zayn listening to liam’s favorite song on repeat.

“enough of your emotional music talk, gents,” harry interrupts. “we have to go find niall and celebrate.”

“won’t we be celebrating tomorrow night?” louis asks, pinching at harry’s side.

harry squirms away, then straightens up and says in his most posh voice, “we must not let tonight go to waste, young men. there are drinks to be had and beautiful people to shag.”

louis’ insides twist and he hides his face in harry’s jumper before he says something completely mad and thinks, _you poor foolish bastard_. 

“we’ve a bit before our replacements come in, so let’s hold off, alright?” zayn says in that sarcastic way louis loves.

so they wait and listen to regina spektor sing _today we’re younger than we’re ever gonna be_ over a few more times.

-

the club is beyond packed by two in the morning and they’re all quite drunk - except liam who will drink one beer and spend the rest of the night dancing, dragging the four of them with him, and dancing with everyone who asks because liam is a polite boy.

louis is at the bar taking a breather and niall is flirting with a gorgeous brunette next to him. she’s laughing, not one of those polite giggles that some girls do when they’re flirting, but a loud, borderline obnoxious snorting laugh. louis thinks that would be niall’s superpower, always making people feel like the best versions of themselves. louis watches niall chat her up some more, then she excuses herself and niall turns on him.

“oi, lou,” he shouts over the music, accent heavier from the drinks. “you just gonna watch other people pull tonight?”

louis shrugs and niall makes a face involving a lot of eyebrows. “he’s been eyeing you up all night.”

louis lets his eyes travel to the tall man at the other end of the bar. he’s noticed him, it had been hard not to. “no, thanks. cheers, though,” he says, giving the man his best sneer. “i’m in no mood tonight.”

“louis,” niall implores, resting his chin on louis’ shoulder. “you can’t be like this forever.”

harry catches his eye through the crowd and louis can see the girl pressing herself against his side. he can feel his mouth curling into another sneer, but he turns it into a smile and gives a small wave. “i’m sure I have no idea what you mean, my sweet irish friend.”

niall nudges his forehead into louis’ jaw, then moves because the beautiful girl is back, gesturing to the dance floor and speaking words louis’ can’t make out. niall turns back to louis and shouts, as he’s being dragged further into the crowd, “lonely, mate.”

louis flips him the bird with the best smile he can muster and then niall’s lost in the flashing lights. the club starts playing a remix of an uh huh her song that louis loves to the core of his being and he thinks of finding liam and zayn and making use of how massively drunk he is.

harry finds him first, trailed by the girl he was dancing with, and his eyes are wide and so fucking green under the bright, blinding lights. “i’m off, lou. you’ll be alright?”

louis feels an ache deep in his chest, unfurling out through his throat, down to his fingertips. he wants to say, _not her_ , _please_ , _no_ , _what the fuck are you doing to me_. he wants harry to feel this bone deep ache. he wants to take his heart from his chest in the middle of the crowd and present it to harry (he knows harry would treat it like something precious if he knew; if he only _knew_. harry is not the type to be careless with a gift).

but louis is a fucking coward, so he keeps his heart where it is and chokes out a response. “fine. i’ll be fine.”

harry puts a hand to louis’ face, thumb pressing under his eye. “too much to drink?”

louis pushes his hand away, rough, and watches harry’s eyes go wider. “fine. didn’t i say?”

harry licks his lips and louis watches his mouth twist around half-started sentences before harry hauls him in and presses a hard kiss to his jaw. it makes louis want to scream and kick because harry always does this when he thinks he’s done something wrong; he immediately tries to make up for it with affection. he offers louis things that are almost what he’s asking for, half of the love louis wants.

harry leaves and louis finds zayn in the crowd, steals his pack of cigarettes and stands outside the club. the pack is empty by the time liam and zayn find him.

-

louis is wired backstage before their gig because the club is big. not the biggest club in london, but big enough and popular enough that there’s a long queue to get in. he almost wants to apologize to the owner who offered harry the gig because he’s just an older man with tattoos covering most of his skin and a passion for music. they’re opening for a band called youth without youth, which zayn says he’s heard of - they’re punk and apparently a review once hailed the lead singer as the next iggy pop. louis hates when journalists or bloggers call someone the next anything. the band members are friendly, though, and wish them luck before they get out there.

“we’ve played here before,” the drummer, jake, says. “they get a bit mental.”

niall looks even more excited, if possible, after hearing that and he’s leading them in their pre-show war cry. liam’s ritual is a bit different, he’s in the corner doing press-ups and muttering _fuck me fuck me fuck me_ because no matter how many times he gets up on stage, he’s always worried that someone is going to figure out he doesn’t belong.

he joins their little huddle after a few moments and puts his arms around niall and harry. “let’s do this, boys” louis says.

niall is the first one out, as usual, sliding behind his drum set and twirling the sticks in his hands. the lights are dim, but louis can tell there are more people here than their usual gigs. harry adjusts the height of the microphone and clears his throat. “we’re london halflife,” he says, voice confident. “this song is called ‘hips like cinderella’.”

it’s one of the first songs harry wrote. it sounds young and desperate and too noisy every time. harry is so fucking into it, leaning out into the crowd and they’ve probably never seen this too-skinny mess of a boy before in their lives, but they fucking eat him up, let him scream _don’t know about you_ into their faces. louis sometimes thinks that even without the band, harry would be doing this - standing under bright lights, green eyes blazing, long fingers around a microphone. harry’s eyes are wild, cheeks flushed and louis can’t help himself, he walks over and runs his hand up harry’s neck to where his hair is sweaty and sticking to his skin. he curls his fingers in and harry’s immediately tilts his head into it, waiting for louis to pull, because apparently he likes that. louis presses his face into harry’s shoulder and keeps playing.

liam starts playing faster and harry is breathing heavily into the mic, which is all part of the build-up of the song. louis starts panting into his mic, too, breathier, higher pitched and he remembers thinking it wouldn’t work when harry first added this part after a writing session with zayn. then harry is screaming and liam is lighting the crowd up with his guitar fucking god skills and the song ends in a rush of noise.

they run through four more songs and a cover of the pixies before their time is up.

-

sometimes being on stage drains every bit of energy louis has. it’s like when the buildup of a song crescendos, then crashes; like being a kid and coming down after a sugar high. he’s nearly asleep when niall pulls up at their building and harry holds onto his hips the entire way up the staircase to their flat, steadying him.

he takes his contacts out and undresses, not even bothering with a shower before curling up under his blankets. he hears harry rummaging about in the kitchen and the light clinkclinkclink of dishes being taken out of the cupboard.

harry’s voice at his bedroom door makes louis turn. “i was going to offer tea.”

louis wrinkles his nose - he’s not sitting up for tea, even if he can smell his favorite brewing. harry’s smile is soft, like a secret that louis can keep in a box under his bed, or tucked away in his chest. he pulls his too-small shirt over his head and louis watches the way his ribs stick out while his arms are stretched up. he gets down to his pants and gets under the covers, curling his body towards louis. it makes louis’ insides twist and his fingers fold into fists, held against his chest like a fighter waiting for the first punch to be thrown.

“you went a little far on stage today,” harry says and his voice is rough from singing his lungs out tonight. “it was good, though, yeah?”

louis gives him a thumbs up and presses it to the tip of his nose. “we’re good all the time.”

harry laughs and turns his face up, bites louis’ thumb. “i mean just you. like, you look great up there. you sound great. like you’re not even yourself anymore, y’know?” he twists their palms and laces his fingers with louis’. “i’ve known you for years and i only see you look that way on stage.”

louis’ squeezes harry’s hand and he’s not entirely sure what harry is even trying to say. “like what?”

harry shrugs, mouth pulling into a frown. “don’t know,” he mumbles. “like you’re finally the version of yourself you want to be. you light the fuck up, lou.”

louis thinks of himself on stage; playing to crowds of dozens, at most a couple hundred. throwing himself onto the floor and into amps, scraping his knees to hell and pressing himself up into harry’s body like he never would offstage. it makes him feel like, in this moment, he’s a window pane and harry can see right through him. he wonders if harry can see his insides or just the wall behind him.

-

harry wakes louis in the morning, gently, because louis can be quite cross if woken up the wrong way. “hello,” he whispers, chin resting on low on louis’ chest. “it’s half seven.”

“oh jesus fuck, harry, why am i awake?” louis groans.

harry laughs and his eyes are so green in the morning, louis already knows this. “because, like, you’re walking me to work.”

louis figures he should get up, anyway, it has nothing to do with harry’s idiotic face. he runs his hand through harry’s mess of bed hair and pulls, almost too hard, and he can feel harry’s breaths coming out faster and his throat working slowly. he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, really, so he makes it playful, tugs on a curl and moves his hands to his sides. “alright,” he says, too brightly and something in harry’s face changes. “you’re nicking me some breakfast.”

harry nods through a yawn, laying his cheek where louis can feel his heart beating. “still tired,” he mumbles.

“you woke me up, idiot.” louis shoves at his shoulders. “up, hazza.”

harry sits up, taking the blanket with him to lay across his shoulder like a cape, and he has lazy grin on his face. “is it too late to call in and stay in bed?”

“and leave niall alone?” louis says, hand to his chest, because it’s easier to make light of the tightening in his throat than say yes.“he’d eat every pastry good there.”

harry nods, hair falling around his face and smiling so hard it hurts to look at. “i suppose i’ll just put some clothes on, then.”

he throws the blanket off his shoulders, half of it hanging to the floor and swings his legs off the bed. louis watches him walk away, the smooth way he rolls his shoulders and the curve of his spine. he wonders for a moment what would have happened if louis had pressed his fingers there when they were curled into each other like puzzle pieces in his bed. a moment is all he allows, then he places that thought in the back of his mind where he keeps a list of all the other places on harry’s body he thinks of mapping out.

he tosses a beanie on his head and a shirt he pulls from a drawer that’s probably harry’s and last night’s trousers. then harry’s walking back in, fully dressed in a similar hurried state - no one cares what he wears at the bakery because he’s always covered in batter and flour, anyway.

“oh, lou, c’mere,” he says and beckons louis with a crook of his finger. “you didn’t wash the makeup off.” he uses the pads of his thumbs to brush the smudges away and then turns louis to the mirror in the corner of the room. “good job?”

“yeah, alright, great,” louis responds, fixing his fringe. “you don’t mind me going out with you in daylight with all this?” he gestures at the now artfully smudged eyeliner.

harry brushes his fingers down louis’ spine. “you look perfect.”

-

the bakery isn’t far from their flat and harry spends most of the walk with his arm around louis. niall is already there when they walk in, little bell over the door tinkling. he smiles brightly and waves at them, mumbling out a hello through a mouthful of food.

“come to join us in the glamorous world of baked goods?” niall jokes once his mouth is no longer filled with sweets.

harry is tying an apron around himself and cuts off louis’ retort. “i promised the darling boy breakfast, niall. you understand.” he winks at louis from behind the counter.

“one day i’m going to tell someone that you’re giving free shit to your boyfriend.” louis rolls his eyes, but niall doesn’t even crack a smile before going back to putting pretty pastries in the display case.

it’s completely and utterly ridiculous, but louis can’t help but think this feels like the amazing, easy morning after a great night of sex on a first date. maybe this is just what it feels like when you’ve been in love with someone for years; when you know the difference between the color green their eyes are in the morning and at night - and the shape of their body even though you’ve never been allowed to touch.

harry leans over the counter, interrupting louis’ thoughts, and pushes a paper bag at him, along with a cup. “what’s this?” louis asks.

“latte. um, caramel. some espresso.” he ducks his head, hair falling across his forehead and louis brushes it back into place. “i woke you up a bit early on your off day. i thought you could use the kick.”

louis is pointedly ignoring the way niall won’t stop looking at them, questions written out in the lines of his face. his phone buzzes in his pocket with a text from zayn that says, _come over liam will cook x_.

he shows the text to harry who put his hand over louis’ on the counter and traces the bones in louis’ knuckles with his thumb. “go. i’ll see you later?”

“we live in the same flat, i imagine so,” louis replies and harry’s cheeks flush.

“just go, lou,” he says, pushing the free food and latte into his hands. “see you at home.”

“yeah, going.” he shouts a cheery goodbye to niall who is still giving him this look like _are you taking the piss?_ and all he manages back is a smile that almost looks like a frown and a wave.

-

louis has this mix cd that he burned for himself when he was seventeen that he keeps in a flimsy paper cover inside his copy of _fear of flying_. he only listens to it when he’s alone because, sometimes, when you’re as close as he is to his bandmates (niall likes to say _life_ mates) it’s nice to have something that isn’t shared. louis never had friends like these before he met zayn during a you me at six gig. (he met harry directly after because it was an over eighteen show. harry was only sixteen and didn’t have the fake identification or confidence zayn did.)

zayn knows the importance of a secret and liam doesn’t like to pry, while niall would rather just wait until you’re ready to talk. harry, though, he wants to know everything that goes on in louis’ head and he wants their secrets to be shared.

so, he hides the mix in a book about a woman braver than he is and takes it out in private. it’s somehow nice to have this connection to a version of himself whose life hadn’t been changed by these four boys yet.

damien rice starts off the mix and louis’ grabs his guitar, starts quietly strumming along. he made this mix for the first boy he fell in love with. it wasn’t love, no, it was like an obsessive compulsive disorder, something that nagged at the back of his head and make (made) his skin itch. he thinks that was his problem - he never separated his desire to be in love from what he was actually feeling. he remembers his boyfriend at eighteen saying to him, “you fall in love with people a thousand times a day and it’s just the version of them you think you want.”

louis told him to fuck off, but he has always known the truth of that. he gets fixated on the way people sweep their hair out of their eyes or the bow of their mouths, the steady beat of their hearts against his chest. it was a problem until it wasn’t because three week later he met zayn (and harry) and he noticed the way harry was always shaking his hair out of his face, the delicate cut of his cheekbones and the pout of his lips, how his wrists seemed strong and sturdy next to his delicate hands. he told himself it wasn’t like that because his fixations never end well and something about harry seemed so fragile at sixteen. louis doesn’t need to toss away something so easily broken.

the mix has changed to tegan and sara and louis sings along, shouting, _all eyes are on me now_. his phone buzzes on the floor with a text from harry and louis sets his guitar aside gently to check it. _!!!!! good news! talk later. celebrating! me and you. x_.

-

to celebrate, harry comes home with two bottles of louis’ favorite wine and a pack of cigarettes because they always end up craving a smoke when they’re drunk. he hugs louis hard, lifting his feet off the ground.

the news is that delia, of lost kitten, has gotten london halflife on the bill for a small, independent festival. it’s three weeks away and no one is even sure where it’s going to _be_ yet, but lost kitten is blowing up in the punk scene and most of the bands there are well-known, at least to the underground circuit.

“are you joking?” louis asks, because this is fucking huge. a festival that can hold more than sixty or so people. it’s hard to take in.

harry shakes his head and louis’ touches his face, thumbs pressing into his dimples. “holy fuck.”

harry pulls away and opens one of the bottles. they don’t have wine glasses, so they drink out of oversized tea mugs and louis watches the way harry’s cheeks flush deeper with every glass. 

after the first bottle and half of the second, harry picks up louis’ guitar and plays it in that careful way he always does because he’s still not confident with instruments. it’s a song he wrote a year ago about someone he was fucking or wanted to fuck, louis never asked. it’s not explicit, but it doesn’t have to be with harry’s voice and the way his mouth moves around the lyrics. louis is not drunk enough to listen to this song in the quiet of their apartment at midnight, so he picks up the cigarettes and shakes the pack in harry’s direction.

“you hate this song,” is harry’s response. “why?”

louis absolutely does not say _it’s bad enough without knowing what you’ve done with the people you take to bed_. instead he says, “how very dare you. i love everything you’ve ever written.” harry laughs and his cheeks darken even further. “you’re my punk rock hero. now, do you want a smoke or not?”

they head outside because louis hates when the smell of tobacco lingers. they sit on the steps and harry puts his arm around louis, tugging him close enough that he can tell harry’s hair still smells like chocolate and mocha from the bakery even under the scent of burning ash and menthol. harry smokes his quickly, flicking the butt into the street.

“aren’t these, like, bad for your voice?” louis asks, quietly. “i’m allowing a terrible habit.”

harry’s eyebrows crease and he takes louis’ wrist, long, cold fingers encircling it completely, and brings louis cigarette to his own lips. louis looks up through his lashes from where his head is resting on harry’s shoulder and watches the way harry’s takes drag after drag, mouth touching louis’ fingers. “you could have just asked for another,” he jokes but his hands are trembling from more than the cold night air now.

“i wanted yours,” is harry’s lazy reply and his lips curl into a smirk.

louis tugs at a thick strand of harry’s hair and clears his throat when he sees harry’s lips part and the way his widen. then harry is just _looking_ at him and it makes louis’ pulse race. harry is the most intense person louis has ever met - in all facets of his life - and sometimes it’s too much when he focuses that intensity on louis.

“let’s just go upstairs, haz,” louis says because it is getting late and wine gives harry a headache if he doesn’t get enough sleep.

louis showers when they get upstairs to wash the smell of cigarettes off. he finds harry sitting on his bed when he’s finished. he’s just in his underwear, staring down at his fingers, like he was waiting for louis before moving. he looks up and smiles, too wide, then turns his head when louis gets dressed.

“d’you mind if i stay here tonight?” he asks and louis says yes without even thinking because it’s not like it’s anything different from other nights. he perhaps underestimates how drunk harry is.

he gets into bed and harry is already on the other side. his smile is smaller now, private. the lights are out, but the streetlamp outside casts the room in shadows and harry’s eyes seem darker in the orange-like glow.

it happens sudden, harry kissing him and louis freezes up. harry presses, though, until louis’ mouth parts under his and louis tastes mint. he thinks hysterically for a moment, _the little fucker brushed his goddamn teeth for this_. harry presses their mouths together so softly it makes louis’ fingers curl into fists and the beat of his heart is loud in his ears. he touches louis’ jaw and the dip of his collarbone and louis keeps his fists clenched in front of him like this is a fight instead of a kiss. harry leaves a lingering kiss to the curve of his upper lip and pulls back. “g’night, lou,” he says and it’s more of a sigh than actual words. it’s said like nothing happened, like the room isn’t spinning out of control over a few tiny kisses, and louis wonders if this just something else added on to their relationship, like the way harry’s eyes burn bright, bright green when louis pulls at his hair or bites his neck.

louis wants more; he wants to kiss harry again - the way he wants, not harry’s soft kisses - he wants to make harry’s lips look bruised and he wants to fuck him and, also, a little, he wants to fuck him up because it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. he wants to tell harry, _that’s it, you’ve given me this and you can’t take it back, it’s mine now_. he wants to write his love out on the walls in permanent ink. he wants more than the whispered goodnight harry gave him after taking whatever piece of louis’ heart he didn’t already have. he _wants_.

harry falls asleep and louis chokes out a noise like a sob and leaves the bed, dressing in the dark and calling zayn as he leaves the apartment.

-

zayn is outside the building waiting for louis when the taxi pulls up. he pays the driver because all louis brought was the half empty bottle of wine and eight cigarettes. zayn lets him sit at the small table in the kitchen and drink. he doesn’t break things or scream like he wants because liam and niall are still asleep. instead he spits venom through clenched teeth, hisses “i don’t think i could stand the sight of him again.”

zayn still has creases on his left cheek from his pillow and his hair is sticking up wildly. he listens with his eyes closed until louis stops talking, then he says, voice rough with sleep. “isn’t this what you wanted?”

louis doesn’t respond to that because he’s too angry to admit that what kills him is this is exactly what he wanted, and maybe he shouldn’t be so picky about how he gets it. zayn puts his hand on louis’ arm. “sometimes getting what you want just makes you realize you don’t want it anymore. or it’s not the right thing to want.”

louis lays his head on the cool surface of table and it makes him feel less exposed when he says, “don’t say it’s the wrong thing.”

he finally looks up and zayn looks wide awake now, jaw clenching and unclenching. his voice sounds far away when he speaks again. “not the wrong thing, lou, no.”

it’s easy to forget that zayn knows the intricacies of louis’ heartache because he rarely talks about liam in that way. it makes him unbearably sad and louis feels with a sudden rush how drunk he is and holds his head in his hands. zayn moves fast, pulling louis from the chair and onto the couch. “this will seem better in the morning,” he says and presses a kiss to his hair. “sleep.”

-

louis is allowed one hour of listening to angry music on the floor in zayn’s bedroom. he’s halfway through live through this, courtney love screaming, _and someday you will ache like i ache_ , when zayn comes in and lays on the floor next to louis. “your hour’s up, mate,” he yells over the music and louis flips him off.

liam walks in, still dripping wet from his shower and turns off the music. “oi,” louis shouts. “liam, there’s no showing off here. you can put your top on.”

louis can feel zayn’s laughter against his side as liam blushes and stumbles over what’s probably an apology. liam is very self-conscious about his body, which is why he looks as fit as he does. zayn cuts him off. “it was a joke, li, yeah?”

liam still looks a bit embarrassed, but his bossy tone is back when he says, “alright. well, louis, if you’d like to clean yourself up, i’m getting a tattoo in a few hours. want to join?”

“of what?” louis asks, disbelieving. “zayn, what do you know about this?”

“don’t sound so surprised,” liam starts and it sounds like he’s reciting a grocery list. “don’t be such a twat. you can see what it is when it’s done.”

“oh,” he adds as an afterthought. “obviously zayn’s known about it. i tell him everything.”

“i love you, too, liam,” zayn intones seriously. liam smiles and tells them to hurry up because he can’t get a tattoo on an empty stomach. “i love you, liam,” louis shouts after him.

“alright, then, lou?”

louis shrugs; he feels fine with with where he is at the moment and that’s okay for now. zayn seems to be okay with that answer, so he goes to his closet and tosses some clothes at louis and tells him to get ready.

-

the man behind the counter at the tattoo parlour raises a pierced eyebrow when they walk into the shop. “another already?” he directs at zayn.

“nah, my mate here, liam, is about to get his first,” zayn says, hand curling protectively around liam’s arm.

they discuss placement and louis gets waved away by liam, so he sits in one of the uncomfortable chairs along the wall and thinks about what he’ll get next. he looks at the walls of art for inspiration and while it’s very good work, it’s the usual tattoo parlour art - flowers, hearts, skulls, dragons, half-naked women. he thinks, yes, maybe a heart to replace the one in his chest.

through the small doorway, he can see liam in the chair without the slightest expression on his face as the tattoo artist drags the needle across his skin. then he catches zayn’s hand linked with liam’s, their skin in stark contrast to each other. liam is so, so still - he’s better at dealing with pain than anyone else louis knows - and zayn keeps talking into his ear, making him break his resolve and smile.

it feels like louis watches them for hours, the careful way zayn meets liam’s eyes and the tight clutch of their fingers. he almost texts harry that he’s in a tattoo shop and liam is the one getting a tattoo, but then he remembers he’s furious with him and it’s almost enough to bring his massive headache back.

louis gets to see the ink before it’s wrapped up and he reads the word _selflessly_ across the right side of liam’s collarbone over and over. “it’s good. i like it,” he chokes out because something about it makes him terribly heartsick and he remembers that liam isn’t always as strong as he tries to be.

“s’gorgeous,” zayn lets out and his feet are tapping out a nervous beat on the floor.

they walk home - after liam has paid and been told the proper way to care for his tattoo - and liam keeps pressing his fingers into his collarbone and zayn gives him these sideways glances that are supposed to be discreet. louis begs off going back to theirs. he goes home.

-

tuesdays are slow at the shop and louis is there alone. he passes the time listening to the entire sleater-kinney discography - he’s on a riot grrrl craze this week - and screams along with corin tucker on _heart attack_. it hits a little close to home ( _walk into your house because i really wanna figure you out it’s always somewhere and someone new each day as long as i’m not looking for me_ ) but it goes right along with the mood he’s been in for the past few days. it’s not that things are bad between him and harry. he just feels uncomfortable in his skin every time harry is close and harry walks around looking hurt every time louis flinches from a the smallest touch. so they hang out as a group more often than not and it’s fine that way. it’s better.

the record ends and louis switches it to _midnight boom_ when a teenage girl walks into the shop. she browses for a while and louis lets her - he’s worked here long enough that he thinks he can tell when people are just waiting for you to offer for help. then she starts clapping along with louis to _black balloon_ and it’s endearing, so louis asks her what she’s looking for.

“oh,” the girl says. “oh, wow, um. there’s this guy?”

louis listens to her story about this guy she has a huge crush on. they’ve got the same taste in everything and, _you know, i just want him to notice me_. she’s looking for new music for a mix. louis thinks it’s kind of horribly sad that this teenager is more forward than he could ever be. he helps her, filling her arms with albums from jeff buckley and mirah and tori amos to broken social scene and the national. she leaves the store with the biggest smile on her face and louis wishes her luck. it lifts his mood for the rest of his shift. he feels like he saved love or something equally dramatic.

niall picks him up after work and they meet up with liam and zayn at a bar. it’s only when he sees harry’s absence that he realizes niall picked him up to distract him, which is worse than just being in an empty flat while harry is out with _whoever_. so he gets messy drunk on niall’s dime and goes home to a still empty apartment and thinks he must be out of his _mind_ to have believed things were okay.

-

the festival gig comes up far quicker than louis expected - it’s an odd sort of disconnected feeling because this is massive, but he feels like everything else is fucked. he constantly wants to apologize for acting like an asshole, but liam likes to pretend he doesn’t know what’s going on - he thinks he can fix every problem by ignoring it, while still trying to boss everyone into being happy - and niall actually looks upset about the whole thing and louis hates that more than zayn’s bullshit lectures about keeping the fucking band together.

but louis has been practicing for weeks because he can always be better, although not everyone can be liam. so he’s ready when delia pushes them on stage (she seems just as excited as they are). harry introduces them and their set starts with ‘kiss and tell’. it’s one of their softer songs and liam was wary of opening their set with it, but louis is pretty sure every single being - every tree and blade of grass - in hearing distance is shaken to their core by harry’s voice.

when louis starts on the first chords of the next song, the crowd comes alive and he notices harry looking back at him as he sings, _tell me what you been doing while i was getting high_ , and louis doesn’t budge. he plays to zayn and liam and stands on niall’s highrise and watches niall kill the drums with an out of control grin on his face. harry spends a few more songs that way, feeding off the crowd and trying to get the attention from louis that he usually has when they’re on stage.

the last song of their set is ‘suck on my sweet tooth’ (because harry is sometimes anything but subtle in titling his songs). it’s zayn’s favorite and he’s jumping up and down, bass line heavy and niall’s cymbals crashing like thunder. louis plays to his amp, guitar coming out warped and the sound is deafening. harry’s voice gets closer and a hand curls tightly into the fabric of louis’ tank. he keeps playing, but harry’s sweaty forehead on the back of his neck is making it hard to even take in a breath. it is exactly like harry to do this, just take something even when it’s not offered. he sings _is it ever gonna be enough_ into the damp skin of louis shoulder and louis thinks, fuck it, and leans into the touches. they’re on stage in front of a crowd of people who may not have known who they were before this, but now they do and his band is fucking phenomenal and he doesn’t want to fuck it up.

harry is beaming by the end of the song and he offers the mic to louis when it’s over. “we are london halflife. now you know,” louis says, voice rough from screaming into his mic for half the songs.

then delia comes out and the crowd goes mental because she’s a household name among most of these people now. “i’m gonna play a song with these boys before they go. that alright with you lot?”

the crowd cheers and louis didn’t know this was happening, but liam is behind the keyboard, so apparently he was in on it. louis knows the song the moment niall starts tapping the drums and he forgot liam could play the piano until he starts pounding the keys.

delia and harry are practically singing over each other, but their voices complement each other, and they are both the same mad person on stage. harry’s voice soars out over the crowd when he sings, _to open my legs up to anyone who’ll have me it runs in the family_.

they are all walking around in a giddy daze when they’re finally off stage and harry is hugging them all. he saves louis for last and runs his hands through louis’ hair and over his arms, like he’s making up for the few weeks where louis wasn’t allowing this. louis doesn’t know if that makes him feel better or worse, but he’s willing to let it go because it’s _harry_. this band and the bond he has with these four boys is bigger than a bit of heartache.

-

they still play their usual gigs, which is to say that they play when and where they can, but it’s shocking how many gigs they get offered now. louis feels really good about it, and he knows the rest of them do, too. they’ve worked really hard and played enough free gigs, and louis would be lying if he said he didn’t think they deserved the slight rise buzz around their band.

so, the gigs are still solid and louis still hurts himself with his onstage antics and harry is back to being all over him - onstage and off - the only difference is there are more people in the bars and clubs, more people waiting outside to see them. everything is back to the way it should be and louis doesn’t mention the kiss, ever, and he pretends he doesn’t see the people harry flirts with because a series of kisses in the middle of the night when harry’s mouth was still tinted purple from wine gives louis no claim on him.

it’s all fine, though, all louis has wanted since he was eighteen years old was harry and this band, and he has half of everything he’s ever wanted.

-

sometimes harry gets in these moods - not very often, but often enough that louis can see them coming; they roll in quietly . there’s nothing to be done about them because harry somehow likes to feel this way. he likes to believe the disgusting things people say in the negative reviews. he hides himself away, even on stage his body seems to curve in on itself, and he sings with an edge of anger and desperation that makes louis’ chest ache.

they’re playing at a bar and the crowd is young and louis notices a group stage left who look like they make more money than louis’ flat costs. harry has been in one of his dark moods for nearly a week. he’s snarling out lyrics and focusing on the kids who clearly snuck their way in here somehow; the obvious fans. louis tries to be an anchor for him tonight; he plays in harry’s space and lets harry push him around and pull him back in.

he thinks the show is going phenomenally. every last one of them is playing their fucking heart out and louis barely hears the shout over the roaring in his ears. it comes again, though, more distinct, _fuckin’ faggot_. harry is still singing, but louis can tell it’s getting harder for him to get the lyrics out. he stops playing and finds the guy in the crowd - one of the posh assholes he noticed before. he’s pretty sure the guy hit on harry after a show three months ago. (louis doesn’t forget these things.) he points and tells the guy to fuck off, then turns his attention back to harry who has his eyes closed, but he’s still on pitch, he sounds fucking perfect. louis moves in close and babbles things he hopes harry can hear, _you’re fine you’re amazing you’re brilliant you’re a rockstar we’re gonna be fucking massive you gorgeous fucking bastard_. harry’s eyes open and they look wild, but they’re open, at least, and his hand comes up and curls around louis’ throat, thumb pressing in gently.

the song ends without louis’ guitar to accompany liam’s, but zayn nods at louis like he’s proud of him and harry leans into the mic and louis’ can’t stop focusing on his _mouth_. “um, that one was called ‘i’m sorry i didn’t give you a blowjob but you’re a twat so fuck off’.”

the rest of the show is perfect and even with the slight interruption, louis thinks it’s one of the best they’ve ever played. it’s loud backstage (which is just a long hallway with one tiny room they call a dressing room and the owner’s office) and louis can still hear niall’s laugh from where he and the others are standing outside the bar.

harry is leaning against the wall and watching him, and louis doesn’t even have time to ask why before harry has him shoved against the wall, their hips pressed close. this kiss isn’t like the last, harry is not gentle. he kisses louis hard and bites at louis’ lip until he opens his mouth against harry’s. it’s messy and harry smells of cologne and sweat, his hands are damp when they push under louis’ shirt. harry whines, a high-pitched, needy sound, when louis gets his hands in his long hair and pulls. he digs his short nails into louis’ side and pulls away, pressing his face into louis’ neck and biting down. it makes louis’ pulse jump, and brings him back to reality. he fists his hand in harry’s shirt and pushes, hard. “stop,” he whispers and harry tries to move back in, but louis keeps him at a distance.

harry licks at his lips and they’re so, so red and louis wants to kiss him again more than anything. “you’re a really shit friend, hazza,” he says, instead, and it makes him sick.

“lou,” harry starts and louis wants to reach in and take his name from harry’s lips because he’s so frustrated he could kill this mess of a boy in front of him. he settles for covering harry kiss bruised mouth with his hand and shakes his head, and walks out to find the others. if zayn notices something out of place, he doesn’t notice it. harry follows right after louis, not even bothering to hide what is so painfully obvious from harry’s mouth and the flush in his cheeks and the tear in the collar of his shirt.

he hears niall’s muttered _jesus fucking christ_ and chooses to ignore it.

-

zayn texts him on tuesday morning, _what did i tell you about getting what you want?_ louis just texts back _fuck off_ because he doesn’t want to talk about it, and it’s still not the wrong thing. it’s just that when you want something for two years and it’s finally given to you, like a forgotten christmas present that’s been left in the closet and is now crushed with the wrapping paper peeling off, what the fuck are you supposed to do with it. he doesn’t want to be the person who says, _this is wrong way to get what i want_. that’s what it feels like.

louis doesn’t even know what harry wants. maybe it’s convenient, maybe harry wants to shag someone who isn’t a complete stranger for a change, maybe he realized he’s in possession of two hearts - one of those being louis’ - and he feels like he needs to repay the gift the only way he knows how, with his long, fingers and warm palms and wide mouth. maybe, maybe, maybe. louis has a list of maybes in his head and none of the scenarios are what he wants them to be, and he’s too afraid to find out what the right one is.

so he spends most of his time with zayn because they work together and it’s easy to sit in silence with someone who knows what it is you’re not talking about. niall knows - he always fucking knows - so sometimes he talks to louis and he waits out the silences like zayn does, only niall won’t ask about it. liam hugs him extra tight whenever he sees him, but he’s not one for weighted silences and he doesn’t know how to talk about things he can’t fix.

that leaves harry and louis spends the better part of a week (two weeks) not talking about anything that is not directly related to the band.

-

it’s a thursday night and they don’t have a gig and zayn is working. louis wants to show up and sit behind the counter and just listen to the sappy music zayn’s always playing, or go to a bar and meet a new set of friends because that would help in times like these. he thinks it’d be grand to meet people who have no clue who the fuck harry styles is.

instead he’s home and leaves the kitchen when harry walks in from work, bringing with him the smell of dough and something sweet as usual. his voices stops louis’ on the way to his room. “are we never going to talk again?”

“lou,” he pleads. “i can’t fix it if i don’t know what the fuck i did wrong.” louis turns and harry’s eyes are wide and he looks like he might cry. 

“you don’t just get to kiss me whenever you please, harry,” louis says and he doesn’t even have the heart to be furious anymore because the truth had to come out sometime and at half eleven on a thursday night with the moon casting shadows on the walls seems as good a time as any other.

harry’s shakes his head, hair falling around his face and he’s in dire need of a haircut. “i just thought -” he cuts himself off and presses his fingers into the bridge of his nose.

“what?” louis asks, voice nearing a shout. “you thought because i wanted you to kiss me it was alright? just some fun between mates?”

“louis,” harry says and it’s horrible because louis has always liked the way harry said his name better than anyone else.

“i think about you all the time, you selfish prick.” and louis thinks maybe the pain in his chest is his ribcage splitting in two like a wishbone, ready to show off his tattered heart. 

“i love you,” harry says. “is that what you’re waiting for? i’ve written songs about it.”

louis thinks about the untitled song that harry didn’t want on the record and won’t perform at gigs. he thinks about the tattoo still fresh on the side of his ribcage that reads: 

_I gaze at the place where he turns into air_  
& the flames of his skin  
combine  
with the flames of the sky,  
proving  
the existence  
of both. 

he thinks that he should be happy right now, but this ache is like a part of him now and he is stubbornly clinging to it like a lifeline. then harry is in his space, brushing his fringe out of his eyes and kissing him for the third time. he pulls back and whispers, “if you ditch me or shove me again i’m going to murder you.”

“you’re still a bastard.” it’s hard for louis to get the words out because he knows there is a lot harry doesn’t understand. louis’ doesn’t believe it should be this simple; it hasn’t been for them so far.

harry bites at his jaw, easy, like they do this all the time. “you left me. in _your bed_.”

louis clears his throat before he speaks. “in my defense, you brushed your teeth and tried to seduce me.”

harry grins, leaves a soft kiss on louis’ lips and seems perfectly content to stand in their hall like this. “did it work?”

“it worked when you were sixteen,” louis confesses. he feels somehow ashamed of himself, like it’s still his little secret that he has to keep locked away. “you didn’t even try, then.”

harry pulls back and searches louis’ face, like he’s waiting for the punchline. louis feels embarrassed now and turns away, but harry doesn’t let him go far, pressing his forehead to louis’ temple. “i love you,” he whispers fiercely.

“years,” louis says and he cringes at the accusing tone of his voice. “you made it very hard to love you, sometimes, harry.”

“do you not want...” harry leaves the question open-ended. louis laughs - it sounds ugly and disbelieving in his ears.

“i always seem to want you,” louis says and brings a hand up to cover his own heartbeat, like he’s still trying to protect what’s beneath the skin and bone. “even when i don’t like you very much.”

he cups louis’ chin and presses their mouths together over and over. louis doesn’t know what he expected this to feel like, but he wasn’t prepared for the way harry’s touches have him unravelling at the seams. “stop,” louis manages to get out before harry kisses him again. “just give me a minute. i can’t think when you touch me.”

“what are you thinking about?” harry asks. he pulls back, but his hands are still on louis’ hips.

“all of this,” louis says, gesturing between them. “everything.”

he wants to explain the two years he spent loving harry. he would like to tell harry how many times he’s thought about touching the inside of his left arm where harry’s star tattoo is. he wants to say that this isn’t easy for him because he didn’t prepare for this. he prepared like a soldier going off to war. he prepared for the end. 

the words get caught in his throat and he wonders if it would be possible to put the way he feels into a song. he’ll write it out twenty feet high on the tallest building he can find.

he kisses harry instead because he can now.

-

they fuck hard the first time and louis can’t even concentrate enough to gets his hands to stop shaking when he pulls harry in by his hair and kisses him. he doesn’t even think in rational thoughts, just the feel of harry’s body above his and the unsteady beat of his heart and the headboard scraping against the wall.

it’s quiet after and louis hates the way he still sounds out of breath, but harry is grinning, face pressed into louis’ stomach. he trails his hand over the words that are still somewhat raised on louis’ side. he nips at the skin between louis’ ribcage and says, “we’re good together.”

louis nods and lets out an _okay_ around the sudden tightness in his throat, and harry presses his thumb against louis’ bottom lip.

-

louis’ has been in love before, but never like this. it feels like reckless driving. it feels like that moment when you fall in a dream and realize nothing is going to break your fall. he can’t get enough of harry; he likes to kiss him when he doesn’t expect it just to see his eyes light up. he’s still not sure if it all means what they have is real, or a trainwreck. he’s afraid of crashing and burning.

it’s a wednesday morning when harry asks if they should tell the boys. louis says no immediately. it’s not that he wants to lie, but he doesn’t want someone to tear down something he hasn’t finished building. he isn’t ready for zayn’s questions or niall’s knowing looks.

he wants to keep this to himself- it's the mix on the his bookcase; the love he tucked away for two years. he’s good at keeping secrets.

louis doesn’t want to explain and harry doesn’t ask, but he looks almost hurt. louis touches the bare skin of harry’s back, presses a kiss to his shoulder. it’s still a rush that he gets to do that now. “‘s not you, harry,” he says, lips moving against harry’s skin. “i’ll tell the world, but. just us for now, yeah?”

-

louis is afraid zayn will see it written all over his face when he goes in to work. he expects it to be like a glaring neon sign shouting love love love all over the shop. zayn just smiles at him and goes back to singing along with lana del rey while stocking magazines. louis thinks about the lovebites he’s hiding under his scarf and almost feels bad that he’s keeping this from zayn. he’s still waiting for the right time to have that conversation.

he helps stock and rings up customers and hums along with zayn, though he hasn’t memorized every word like zayn has.

“you’re quiet today,” zayn muses after louis finishes up with the last customer.

“it’s this music,” louis whines exaggeratedly. “she makes everything sound rather _depressing_.”

“since when is depressing music not your thing, lou?” zayn asks with a laugh.

louis shrugs and they go back to being quiet. louis likes silence with zayn, though, it’s comforting. “niall’s cooking tonight,” zayn says after a few minutes. “text harry, yeah?”

louis sends a simple text _dinner with the boys?_ , and harry replies _fine_. then after that, _i want to kiss you_. it throws louis off and he can’t even think of a response. it still feels a bit surreal when harry sends a flirty text, like someone’s playing an elaborate prank. being around harry makes it more real.

he shoves his phone back into his pocket and listens to zayn sing along with lana del rey about being a girl.

-

harry shows up late, as usual, with a beanie over his mess of curls and his cheeks flushed from running up the stairs. he doesn’t even bother with a hello when louis lets him in, just presses their lips together right there in the doorway. he pulls back and louis’ notices that harry’s hands are covered in blue ink, which means he’s been writing again. he wants to ask _are any of these new songs about me?_ but they’re interrupted by zayn. he gives louis a questioning look before telling them to hurry up because dinner is ready.

they’re sitting around the table, drinking beer and listening to niall tell stories about the crazy people who came into the bakery today. there’s nothing new about the way harry puts his arm around louis’ shoulders - they’ve always been affectionate. it feels new, though, the way harry’s long fingers trace designs and words on his skin.

liam wants a john hughes marathon, so they move into the living room with their drinks and niall gets started on the popcorn. harry tugs louis’ into the darkened hallway and leans in to take louis’ lip between his teeth and bite down. “you smell so fucking good,” he mumbles, trailing kisses down loius’ neck.

“haz, this has to wait.” harry may be impulsive and reckless, but louis knows the three people who know them best are waiting in the other room.

“are you fucking with us?” niall asks, voice raised, and his eyes are wide. louis know it’s easy to read on their faces and in the tight clutch of harry’s fingers in louis’ shirt.

harry is standing behind him and he hides his face in louis’ neck, like he’s looking for protection. it doesn’t seem to make anything better because zayn somehow looks even more confused. liam won’t even look at them, just stares down at the floor and says, “don’t fuck up the band, alright?”

louis shakes his head viciously, even though liam isn’t looking, because he would _never_.

zayn says he’s going for a smoke outside and motions for louis to join him. harry looks terrified that he won’t have louis for support, but louis just mouth _it’s fine_ and follows zayn.

zayn is quiet until he takes the first drag, letting it out in a perfect stream of smoke. “are you sure?”

“as sure as i can be about something like this,” louis replies, not knowing what else to say.

“lou,” zayn says and louis sighs.

“yes, i’m sure. i really want this.”

zayn nods and says okay and that’s it. they smoke in silence and louis whispers out a thank you around the smoke in the air. zayn squeezes his knee and they wait a few more minutes before going back upstairs.

harry has his feet in niall’s lap - he can never be cross with them for too long - and liam shoots louis a small, apologetic smile before lecturing zayn on the dangers of smoking again. so louis guesses everything is fine and he lets out a relieved breath. harry shoots him a thumbs up from across the room louis returns it.

-

there’s a gig on saturday and it’s the same as always when they get on stage. zayn’s bass line creating the perfect rhythm and niall keeping perfect times, liam shreds away, and harry’s voice is just as gravelly as ever. only, now, when he touches louis on stage, there’s intent, and every hidden kiss on the neck means everything now.

after the show, harry corners him backstage and it’s almost like a repeat of the last time, but not. harry touches his fingers to the bruise he’d sucked on to louis’ neck that morning and asks, “are you happy?”

louis responds yes because he is. harry was the other half of everything he ever wanted. “are you?”

harry’s eyes are practically glowing and his smile is wide. he brushes away the eyeliner that smudged high up on louis’ cheekbone. “of course. we’re going to be massive one day.”

“right,” louis says, and harry kisses the breath out of him.


End file.
